


It's a Perfect Opera!

by AriesDraco



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: A Bit of Fluff, Kinda, M/M, Musical theatre fic?, Opera fic?, Phantom of the Opera - Freeform, Some sort of crack?, Song fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 08:40:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19742116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AriesDraco/pseuds/AriesDraco
Summary: The Phantom of the Opera story that literally no one asked for. No one. Not even the cast. What the heck is going on?





	It's a Perfect Opera!

Roman was the son of a famous dead Swedish violinist who fell on hard times and left him at the opera house to earn his keep, where he danced in the chorus with his good friend Virgil.

“So… why am I Christine?” asked Roman, producing a script from behind his back. “We’re doing Phantom of the Opera and I’m not the Prince character? That sounds awfully out of character.”

“I have to dance?” asked Virgil. “Nuh-uh. Nope. No way. Can I be the stagehand who gets hanged?”

“Aw, kiddo, don’t worry, we’re doing a seriously abridged adaptation, you don’t have to dance. And Roman, in terms of screen time, Christine spends the most time on the stage, so of course it has to be you.”

Virgirl squinted at Patton and Roman preened. 

“Wait, why don’t I do this as Valerie?” suggested Roman brightly, shifting into the small, cheerful woman.

“No, no, the whole idea of it is to do it as ourselves.”

“Then what was the point of establishing our shapeshifting?!”

Patton sighed fondly and clapped twice. “C’mon kiddos, back in the scene. Please? Pretty please?

Roman was the son of a famous dead Swedish violinist who had fallen on hard times. He danced in the chorus at the opera with his good friend Virgil, the slightly creepy but adorable-in-his-own way son of the dance master, Patton. 

“When father died, he told me that he was going to send an angel of music, and he has!”

“Are you sure it’s not some restless spirit haunting you?”

Roman glared and Virgil stared steadily back, explaining, “Look, Meg was totally not on board with Christine’s crazy, so live with it.”

“Whatever, time for my diva-toppling solo love song that gets mistaken for me seducing the guy I grew up with to basically buy me.”

“Roman!”

“FINE!”

The whole production was a frenetic mess, but here he was, on the stage, lights on him. Here, he plays a maiden, faltering at first, and shy. His eyes are downcast, body language timid and withdrawn, and he steals a glimpse beyond the lights, at the still empty theatre, in the midst of rehearsal, heart racing. He thinks of the angel, the angel of music, of what the lessons must have been for a lonely child. He hears the first note and freezes.

He wants to run for the darkness, to where the angel sings, but a sharp tap of the dance master’s cane demanded for him to step up. They are all watching him, maybe even the angel? The note plays again, and he opens his mouth.

“Think of me, think of fondly, when we’re said goodbye,” his voice drops off at the end of the line, because he has never heard himself in such a grand hall. Another insistent tap, and he gasps, and continues, “Remember me, once in awhile, please promise me you’ll try.”

He tries to remember his unseen teacher’s lessons, and takes a breath when he should. “When you find, that once again you long to take your heart back and be free, if you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me.”

This is where the music rises to a crescendo, and the stage magic begins. No longer is he a child, auditioning, but standing on the stage, singing to a full theatre, dressed to the nines. The costume is the wrong size, and he is still terribly frightened, but he rallys himself and sings as he had been taught to sing, putting all of his heart into the lyrics, putting all the yearning into his voice.

Then the song is over and the audience explodes into applause.

Farcical as the scenario was, Roman could not help but feel elated at the feeling of once more being on the stage, playing to an audience, to rapturous applause, even if this was all just a simulation. It had been awhile since he’d been allowed to play like this, and he hadn’t realised how much he’d missed it until he was doing it. 

“Bravo, bravo, bravissimo…”

He was in the dressing room and his angel sings to him.

“Flattering child you shall know me, see why in shadow I hide. Look at your face in the mirror, I am there inside.”

Greater than the elation of the stage, greater than the promise of love, the angel, the angel of music sent by the loving father to the child is revealing himself. He plays the role of the awestruck worshipper, at once terrified and seduced by the man behind the mirror, in his broad-brimmed hat, dark cloak and white, white mask. He takes the angel’s offered hand and steps into the mirror world. The light cuts out.

Roman shrieked and clung onto the Phantom, causing them both to stumble before the Phantom caught him. 

“What in the fuck…?”

“PleaseturnonthelightsI’mscared!”

There was a long-suffering sigh and suddenly, the set was illuminated by candles. Roman jumped back, slightly ashamed of himself, but the Phantom merely shook his head, hiding a smile, before slipping back into character, holding out his hand once more.

Roman takes the angel’s hand. He is bewildered but impressed by the world beneath the opera house, lit by candles, filled with fog, and of course, he is entranced by the angel. The angel of music, who sang to him, who tutored him, who comforted him and lulled him to sleep in sweet dreams, finally here, and real. 

“Close your eyes, for your eyes will only tell the truth, and the truth isn’t what you want to see,” sings the angel, and Roman obeys, reverent. “In the dark, it is easy to pretend… that the truth is what it ought to be.” 

The song is full of raw emotion, a confession of love, a plea for him to run away from the world above. How can something as beautiful as this music come from someone as dark and lonely as this angel in hell? He lets the angel hold him, feels him holding on too tight, as if no one had ever touched him before. 

“Floating, falling, sweet intoxication. Touch me, trust me, savour each sensation.”

He hears the angel’s voice hitch ever so slightly when he does touch him, fingers brushing the exposed side of his face. 

“Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in to the power of the music that I write: the power of the music of the night.”

His angel looks so sad, so earnest, but he cannot help himself, hands moving deftly to remove the m… his hands were caught in a vice grip, and the Phantom stepped back away, leaving Roman momentarily confused. This wasn’t how the scene was supposed to go, but he was an actor, so he would roll with it.

“You alone can make my song take flight. Help me make the music of the night…”

They cut forward with dizzying speed and he sits at the table, playing a show within a show within a show. Aminta is excited about the upcoming tryst and plays with an apple. The actor is nervous, knowing that he is bait in a trap for the opera ghost. He is also nervous because the score is challenging, and he fears disappointing his angel, even with the knowledge that the angel was no angel but a monster. Roman wondered who it was playing the Phantom, but pushed it aside to focus on staying in character.

Don Juan prowls across the stage, face covered. Aminta is breathless with anticipation. He is breathless with unease. What if the angel doesn’t show? What if he does?

“You have come here, in pursuit of your deepest urge, in pursuit of that wish which till now has been silent, silent.”

They had rehearsed this, but he had never heard Don Juan sound so good. Perhaps the nerves were getting to him too, knowing that the opera ghost was watching.

“I have brought you that our passions may fuse and merge. In your mind you've already succumbed to me, dropped all defenses, completely succumbed to me. Now you are here with me, no second thoughts. You've decided, decided…”

Here comes the touch, the seduction. He plays Aminta, coquettish and coy, going through the motions as they had rehearsed it. He feels the warmth of the body pressed to his, and listens to the voice sing. He knows the voice.

“Past the point of no return, the final threshold, what warm, unspoken secrets will we learn? Beyond the point of no return…”

He springs away from Don Juan, but he’s trapped on the stage with nowhere to go. He has to play his part, lest he let slip what he has realised.

“You have brought me to that moment where words run dry, to that moment where speech disappears into silence, silence.”

He pulls himself together, remembering the rehearsals, and plays Aminta with a shaky smile and a glance at the dark figure on the stage. 

“I have come here, hardly knowing the reason why. In my mind I've already imagined our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent… and now I am here with you, no second thoughts. I've decided, decided…”

He is Aminta, he is excited. He is terrified. He sings the words the opera ghost written for him, a ghastly confession. 

“Past the point of no return, no going back now! Our passion play has now at last begun. Past all thought of right or wrong, one final question: How long should we two wait before we're one?”  
They are, on stage, as close as lovers, so close, he feels the heartbeat, racing behind his back, where they were pressed together in their dance.

Heartbeat… racing?

Who was it, playing the Phantom in this simulation? Wasn’t it odd that they were randomly putting on the Phantom of the Opera when they were a very small and wholy male cast? It was very odd, but he was also still on stage, and it would be rude to interrupt the scene. And besides, he was having the time of his life. He put his heart into the song.

“When will the blood begin to race, the sleeping bud burst into bloom? When will the flames at last consume us?” He turned suddenly, sliding his hand up the Phantom’s chest and making the flirtiest damned eyes he could manage, and the Phantom just barely managed to refrain from corpsing.

“Past the point of no return, the final threshold! The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn! We've passed the point of no return…”

The Phantom was breathing shakily, obviously unbalanced by Roman’s unexpected actions, but recovered himself enough to continue, “Say you’ll share with me one love, one lifetime…”

“Let me lead you from your solitude.” Screw it, he really was more of a Prince character. Rather than the swooning maiden, he would have this Phantom swoon. “Say you’ll need me with you, here, beside you.” He moved in close, close enough that only the cloth of the hood and an inch of space separated the two of them. “Anywhere you go let me go too…” 

He lifted the hood just enough to lean in and press a soft kiss to those lips. 

“Thank you for the show,” he whispered, just as the backstage doors burst open, letting in a very enraged Virgil, a confused Patton in tow.

“Where is he!” demanded Virgil. “I just found the real Patton and there’s no stupid Phantom of the Opera production!”

Roman merely smiled and waved at them.

\---

With shaking hands, he placed the mask down on his dresser, nearly shattering it, and buried his face in his arms until the heat went away.

**Author's Note:**

> Look, hat, cape, half-monstrous face, and a penchant for drama? He was just crying for it to happen.


End file.
